Batman: The Dawn
by Talking to Bananas
Summary: Set shortly after The Dark Knight, Batman is attempting to come to terms with his new role as a villian. But someone new has arrived in Gotham and he has some questions on his mind. The most important one being: Who is Batman? Rated T to be safe.
1. Pondering

**This is set shortly after The Dark Knight and contains major spoilers for the movie, so if you haven't seen it, I'm warning you to turn back now. Other than that I hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything Batman related.**

**Preface**

Steam rose from the hot streets of Gotham city, the aftermath of a recent downpour that had soaked the city from the roof of Wayne Tower down to the smallest of dark alleys. But the sun was now asserting itself from behind the clouds and the sound of two children's footsteps could be heard as they raced down the wet street. A petite black haired boy was in hot pursuit of a slightly older looking brunette boy. The black haired boy was already huffing and puffing, but he pumped his arms for an extra burst of speed and flung himself on the older boy's back. As the pair tumbled haphazardly to the hard ground, the younger of the two managed to pin back the arms of his companion. Effectively subduing the other boy despite his struggles, the black haired child snarled, "I've got you this time. You're not getting away now. I'm taking you to Arkham Asylum where you belong."

The older boy sighed and tried in vain to break free of his bonds. Admitting defeat, he made one final plea; "You've got to let me go. They'll eat my alive in there."

The younger boy showed no mercy as he pretended to slap cuffs on his friend. Smirking, he said, "The Gotham Police does not make exceptions. Not even for someone of your stature." And with that he grinned wildly, dropping his character for a moment, "Just admit, Cam, I won."

The boy that was trapped under him smiled back and answered, "Fine, Dave, you win this time." The young boy who was now identified as Dave whooped and pounded a fist in the air. Cam, still face down on the ground shrugged the small black haired boy off his back and rolled over. After stretching all of his limbs he grinned mischievously and asked, "You want to play again?"

The younger boy jumped to his feet instantly. He helped his friend up and beamed at him. Taking the look on his face as an answer, Cameron said, "Alright, let's go then."

He rubbed his hands together, ready for the next pursuit. Just as he was about to take his head-start, he saw a look on his friend's face. The boy walked tentatively toward him and asked expectantly, "Hey, Cam…Do you think maybe I could be Batman this time?"

A dark look came over the older boy's face, and he bent down so he was face to face with the smaller boy. "You know, I'm not sure if you're up to it yet. You just don't have that evil streak in you."

Dave pouted at Cam and puffed out his chest, "I'm mean enough, I swear." He pointed a finger at his friend and feigned shooting him; "BAM BAM! See? I shot you."

Clutching his chest dramatically, the older boy rolled his eyes and said, "I just don't believe it kid, sorry. Besides, you're not tall enough. Now, you know the rules: Batman gets a minute to run and hide before Commissioner Gordon comes after him. So, close your eyes and count to sixty."

The small boy did as he was told and shouted into the darkness with bravado, "I'm gonna getcha again, Batman, just wait." But there was only silence in return. His Dark Knight had disappeared somewhere already, prepared for the hunt of his life.

**Chapter 1: Pondering**

Bruce Wayne sat on the ground floor of his newly reconstructed mansion, staring pensively through the expansive windows that covered the entire wall of his living room. The view of Gotham that these windows provided would have taken anyone's breath away, but he appeared unfazed. Of course, Bruce had other things on his mind.

He had just returned from another trying night in his new life as Gotham's most infamous criminal. The newspapers had eaten the story up; after all, it made a great headline, overpowering the news of the capture of the Joker. **MASKED VIGILANTE BATMAN TURNS AGAINST HIS DEFENDER, HARVEY DENT…5 DEAD IN BATMAN'S KILLING SPREE…CONNECTION FOUND BETWEEN THE BATMAN MURDERS…**The last headline was the one that worried Bruce the most. It had been discovered that all of the murder victims of that fateful night were related to the kidnapping and murder of Rachel Dawes. The mere thought of Rachel being connected with him, with Batman, made Bruce sick to his stomach, especially now that Batman was considered a highly dangerous killer. Bruce pressed his fingers to his temple as he thought about a recent press conference that his once ally Commissioner Gordon had held.

It was about three days after Harvey Dent's murder was discovered and a tenacious reporter had just pieced together the connection between the five seemingly random murders that Batman was alleged to have committed. A sea of reporters squirmed in their seats, waiting for Gordon to begin his speech. He stepped up to the podium confidently; he'd been giving a lot of speeches in the past few days. Clearing his throat with tentative authority, he said, "I've called you all here to day to talk about the recent connection that was found regarding the Batman Murders. The deceased were all in some way involved in the kidnapping and murder of one of the Joker's victims, Rachel Dawes. Now, I'm sure that you all must be wondering why Batman was so enraged by Rachel's death that he would go to the extreme of murder to seek his vengeance. Well, I'm here to speak as someone who knew…or thought I knew, the Batman."

There was an uncomfortable silence in the room as the Commissioner mentioned his prior affiliation with the masked lunatic. He continued despite the uneasiness in the room, "The man that I encountered was wild, reckless, and impulsive. He also had a healthy sized ego. When he was unable to save both Rachel and Harvey Dent after they were kidnapped and rigged with explosives, I can only imagined that this flipped some sort of switch in his already unbalanced mind and sent him into a downward spiral that lead him to these revenge killings. We may never know the true reason Batman did what he did. But he has shown us his true colors and I will hunt him down and uncover the truth." The crowd broke into applause. As if Bruce didn't have enough to worry about.

The sound of Alfred's voice behind him caused Bruce to start. He spun around quickly, his reflexes still keen from the previous night of pursuit. Seeing his old but sturdy butler, Alfred, with his knuckles white on the breakfast tray he was holding, Bruce slowly relaxed. His outburst was surprising even to him, but he slowly smoothed his face over, putting on a false sense of composure for Alfred's sake. The only thing Alfred hated more than seeing Bruce hurt from the criminals he put away was the results of the senseless game that he had been playing with the Gotham Police for the past few weeks.

Before Alfred could admonish him for the worn look on his face and the dark purple bags under his eyes that looked like they had been permanently fixed there with a hammer, Bruce asked, "What did you just say Alfred?"

Alfred's face came as close to a sneer as it ever could when he heard the total lack of inflection in Bruce's voice, but answered his question nonetheless, "I just asked when you think that this madness is going to stop."

Feigning innocence, Bruce simply gave his butler an inquisitive look, "What madness? I've never seen Gotham look so restful," he gestured widely to the window he had just been gazing out of, "most of the mob is in search for new henchmen thanks to Harvey Dent's cunning if short-lived prosecution, the Joker is behind bars, and…they have someone new to hate. You know how Gotham loves variety in its felons." His words dripped with sarcasm, but he was too tired to hide it.

Alfred shook his head silently in response and place the breakfast tray down on an end table next to where Bruce was sitting. It appeared as if he might leave the room without further comment, however after three strides, he stopped. With his back still turned to Bruce, he addressed him, "Master Wayne, Gotham does not need someone new to _hate_," the venom with which he spat the last word shocked Bruce and he turned intently to wait for him to continue, "Gotham needs a hero." He began to walk again and as if to quench the protests that were rising to Bruce's lips he spoke once more, "Preferably one that is alive." With that, he was gone.

Bruce felt like his thoughts were on fire. The crease in his forehead grew more defined as he thought about what had just happened. Alfred put up with a lot, but seeing and hearing constant anti-Batman propaganda was too much for him. Bruce hated what this was doing to his friend, who did not see the necessity of it. How easy would it be to just tell the world who their precious Harvey Dent really was? How exulted would he be once Gotham realized that he was actually the good guy?

He laughed bitterly in his head. Batman had never been the good guy, even when he had a moral code, even when he was putting away psychopaths. People had been glad for his presence, but he doubted any of them would actually want to meet him in a dark alley. Or on a normal street, for that matter. So, Bruce should be used to this, playing the part of the villain. The problem was, even after two and a half weeks, he still wasn't. All he had ever wanted to do was to help, to inspire. He had accomplished the latter, though the inspiration he brought about was corrupt and twisted. And now he couldn't even do the first.

There was no way to help when everyone thought you were a cold-blooded killer. He supposed that if he were actually capable, he could kill the scum that still remained on Gotham's streets. The problem was that he wasn't capable. It was hard enough to stop himself from murder when he represented something good, now that he was accused of it anyway, it was ten times harder. He was still a better man than that, though, and he kept himself in check. He had to remember that no matter how much time he spent as Batman, he would have to return to this body, to this life as Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne could not live as a murderer.

It was getting harder to separate himself from the man he became each night. Sometimes, when he was running (or flying) at night, he felt that Batman was his true self. Batman did everything that he couldn't as a man with no anonymity. Batman was where his instincts took control, where he could think and then do. In truth, his life as Bruce Wayne bored him slightly. He had never been great with money, and the women he romanced were nothing compared with what he lost…His thought pattern faltered as a jab of pain invaded his mind and he turned his attention toward another train of thought.

Alfred was different. He refused to think of Batman as a person. He was no longer a whim of "Master Wayne", but in Alfred's mind, it was still Bruce that went out there every night and risked his life. That was why it was so hard for him to see Bruce continue with what seemed like no purpose now. Bruce could understand what he was feeling, but Batman was so much a part of him, he could hardly think of something that would take him away from that. The one thing, one person, who could've was gone now; the only whispering memory that told him of a time when wanted a normal life.

As his thoughts raced, he felt his eyes fluttering closed and he thought vaguely about when the last time he'd slept had been. It wasn't yesterday, there had been a fundraiser he had to attend and he had felt the need to visit Wayne Enterprises to remind everyone there that he did, in fact, care what went on there. So, it must have been the day before that when he slept last. Suddenly, the chair underneath him was the most comfortable thing in the world. He fell asleep with a glass of orange juice still held in his hand.

* * *

The few people that were walking down 43rd street in Gotham at the same time as Edward had stopped dead in their tracks. A curious puzzle, but it was one that was easily solved. All one had to do was follow their line of sight to see the trigger behind their paralysis. Even in the dim light of dusk, the lime green coat he was wearing seemed like a beacon in the middle of the street. He walked with a loping gate down the street, though his long, bouncing strides did nothing to unseat the bowler hat that was seated on top of his head. He seemed unaware of the stares that followed him down the street or that they were centered on the giant question mark that commanded the shirt under his coat. Instead, he appeared to be lost in thought, his eyes searching the sky for the answer to some question no one was aware of. Then, his demeanor changed, and a smile lit up his face for a split second. With that, his strides became quicker as he headed for his destination. The Riddler had a message to deliver.

**Thanks for reading! I'm new to this fandom, so if I get any facts wrong just let me know (though I am going to be taking some liberties to make characters fit into Christopher Nolan's universe). I should have a new chapter up soon.**


	2. Pursuit

**Sorry it took so long to update. I actually wrote this before I went on vacation, but my internet didn't start working in time for me to post it. I should have another chapter as soon as I finish my summer homework. Hope you guys like it!**

Chapter 2: Pursuit

The orange juice was gone when Bruce woke up. The sun was gone also. Twinkling lights that represented Gotham's nightlife had replaced the view that had previously been outside of Bruce's window. Sighing, he looked at his watch. He had slept for ten hours and as he registered that fact, he cursed Alfred silently for not waking him up sooner. Jumping out of his seat, he shook the dizziness from sleep that clouded his head. He headed to the kitchen quickly and poured a glass of water. Savoring the first sip as it trailed down his dry throat, he glanced once again at his watch. It was late; _he_ was late. He gulped down the rest of his water and threw the glass into the sink, causing an unnecessarily loud crashing sound.

Within, two minutes he was on his way down to the Batcave, his lips pursed as he counted the seconds it took for his lift to reach the expansive cavern. Though he had just moved in recently, organizing his equipment down here had been his first priority. Because of this, he was able to locate the Batsuit instantly and step into it with ease. He paused for a moment to roll his neck and stretch his arms, still feeling the fatigue of getting too much sleep in those bones. Then, he was off, shooting out of the exit on the Batpod, his urgency only matched in his stealth.

The night air was almost as warm as it had been in the daytime; Gotham was experiencing one of the worst heat waves it had had in decades. The high temperatures had most of Gotham locking themselves inside their apartments at night. This was both a help and a hindrance to Batman. While it meant that he had free reign of the city when it came to running from the police, it also brought the concerned citizens to their windows watching for any sight of Batman so they could phone in a tip to the special "Batman Sighting" hotline Gordon had set up.

He was glad for the empty streets now since it meant he could move more swiftly in his search for the Gotham Police. For several days now, Batman had been devising a way that he could still help while being hunted. In his narrow escapes from "justice" he had been forced to hide in certain rather unsavory places, and had heard some conversations that were probably not meant for his ears. One such conversation was about a drug deal that was going to happen at 2 that morning.

Checking the time, Batman began to search with more fervor, shifting to a faster gear as his eyes began to adjust to the dim light. Eventually, he found a seven story building and, parking his vehicle in a deserted side street, climbed the fire escape agilely. He surveyed the city, and on 36th Street he found exactly what he was looking for. There was a cop car patrolling the road, and backup was just two blocks away. Within five minutes, he was there, stopping just around the corner from the car. He had to make sure he could lead them to the scene of the crime without them catching up with him.

Taking a deep breath, he revved his engine so it was audible and darted through the cop's headlights, vaguely thinking about how much this was going to make the man's night. The sirens almost instantaneously followed his appearance, and he began to speed down the street, listening intently for the sound of back up cars coming. When he heard them, he sped up, wishing that they had the sense to shut off their sirens. It wasn't like they had any traffic to clear on the streets anyway.

As he made his way between buildings agilely on the motorcycle crafted from his recently destroyed Batmobile, he only allowed flitting glimpses of himself for guidance. By the time he was two blocks away, Batman devised a new plan in his mind. There was no way they were going to catch the real criminals with their blaring presence, so he decided, just before they were at their destination to disappear entirely. He took two quick turns that he knew were impossible to follow and ducked out of sight, shutting the off the Batpod's engine so that the purr of the machine wouldn't give him away.

He idled in an alley too thin for a police cruiser to fit. It didn't really matter, but he wanted to make sure that even if they did find him again, they would be forced to take an alternate route. Checking the time, he watched as the cruisers did exactly what he'd hoped. With their sirens shut down, the cars were much more menacing as they prowled the streets in search of their prey. As they slowed their speed, one of the officers must have noticed the only light on the dingy street. They stopped and got out of their cars, guns drawn. The bat-shaped throwing star that Batman had left in the doorway was the final sign for them and they rushed into the building.

Batman watched as his plan unfolded and heaved a sigh of relief. He'd done his job, and though it may not be as rewarding as taking care of the criminals himself, he knew that it was better than simply running around. With this thought in his head, he disappeared into the night.

* * *

"He wasn't there, commissioner. We lost him." Jim Gordon sighed into the phone as his cops reported to him the night's events. He wondered why Batman would make his presence so known. Normally their nights were spent running after false sightings reported by his hotline. Occasionally, Batman would show up, but the chase would be short and always in his control. He turned his attention back to the phone as his deputy continued his report, "But we did stumble upon a building where a drug deal was going down. It was pretty small time stuff, but one of the guys there said he knew some information that would be valuable to us if we cut him a deal. We'll bring 'em back to the station and see how it pans out."

Gordon said something back and hung up the phone pensively. So, that was Batman's deal now. He almost chuckled at the thought of the Bat still doing good when the whole city believed him to be bad. The grin left his face as quickly as it came though, when he thought about how wrong everything he'd been doing was. He should be working with Batman, not sitting in the cushy commissioner's chair and giving speeches about how dangerous he was. But he knew that was an impossibility now.

Preparing to go question the drug dealer his boys were bringing in, he opened the door to his office and almost smashed into a lower level woman cop who said breathlessly, "Commissioner Gordon! There's a package on the front steps for you."

"Bring it in, I'll take a look at it after I deal with the scum that Reynold's is bringing in."

"Sir, I think you should look at it now. It has the Bat symbol on it."


	3. Duties

Chapter 3: Duties

The package was small, about the size of a shoebox, and it was wrapped in very discreet brown paper. There was no return address and the only sign of who might have delivered it was the dark black Bat symbol filled in with Sharpie on the top. Jim Gordon handled the package carefully as he carried it inside. He placed it delicately on his desk, his confusion evident in his furrowed brow. The whispers that were floating between the interested police officers that had gathered behind him felt like a breeze on his back as he stared at the box.

Feeling a tap on his shoulder, he spun around to face the woman who had initially told him of the package's existence. She flinched slightly under his fierce gaze, but reported, "We've got SWAT coming up to scan the package. They should be here in about ten minutes, so you probably should just leave it until then. Gordon's gaze shifted until it was resting once again on the box, and the glaring symbol that adorned the top. If he had let his curiosity dictate his actions, the paper would have been discarded on the floor now and he would be picking apart whatever was inside at that very moment. However, police commissioners are not supposed to let curiosity dictate their actions, so he leaned against the wall of his office, took a few steadying breaths, and waited for the SWAT team.

It took them eleven minutes to get there. He thought vaguely that if there was ever a case of immediate danger, that one minute extra could cost numerous lives. The thought flew out of his head though, when they began to perform their duty, using the state of the art equipment that had been funded by Harvey Dent's estate. Gordon felt the irony like a pin prick on his heart. But there were more pressing things to think about at the moment and he held back an unprofessional smile when they team said that the box was safe to open.

Taking the gloves offered to him by a detective standing near the doorway, Jim slowly approached the package. He peeled back one corner of the thin, brown paper, and followed with the next until the wrapping fell off and its contents were revealed. Silence crowded the room as people strained their necks to see what was sitting on the desk.

At first it looked like a wooden jewelry box, the oak sides polished to a glinting shine. The top was a clear glass pane and through it something was visible. As Gordon leaned closer he saw that what resided under the glass was a maze. Small and intricate, it filled the entire length of the box, and there were tiny numbers painted along its paths. Running his hand through his hair, Gordon puzzled, "So, what do we do now?"

A member of the SWAT team had been leaning just over Gordon's shoulder and caused him to jump when he said enthusiastically, "We solve it!" Gordon swung his head around, but the man was already launching into an explanation; "See that marble in the top corner, we need to get it through the maze and into that hole down in the bottom right hand corner. If you turn the knobs on the sides it will tilt the table."

The room was still and the man looked around nervously before Gordon cleared his throat and asked, "You think you can solve this?" The SWAT member nodded vigorously and Gordon pointed at the maze, "Then get to it." With that, the man removed his jacket, sat down, and began to work as Gordon shooed the hoard of spectators out of his office.

* * *

The sound of his alarm clock rang harshly in Bruce's ears as he was jolted awake from a dream. Refusing to open his eyes to the daylight he was sure was streaming through his blinds, he felt along his bedside table until his hand connected with the snooze button on top of his alarm. He recoiled his arm and smashed his face into his pillow. Exhaustion had almost overwhelmed him when he heard a voice behind him, "You know, most people who set alarms actually get up when they ring."

Bruce rolled over and opened his eyes to see Alfred in the doorway. Squinting in earnest against the sun's glaring light, he sighed, "But I'm Batman."

Alfred rolled his eyes and tossed a newspaper onto Bruce's bed, answering, "No. Right now, you're Bruce Wayne, and you have responsibilities to attend to."

Bruce picked up the newspaper and began pouring through it. He flipped the pages quickly, his furtive glance dashing across the print. With each page he turned the crease above his eyebrows got deeper and concern crept into his striking brown eyes. By the time he had finished the newspaper, his lips had pressed into a thin line. He looked up at his butler and said, "I lead the cops to someone last night…the story's not in here."

Alfred snatched the paper from his hand and shoved it back once he had opened it to the second page; "I wasn't talking about that." Bruce barely scanned the page as his mind raced to figure out the lack of news. This was the morning edition of the paper, after all, and they had probably not learned of the news in time to print it. Or maybe he had missed it. A second glance had never hurt anyone. He was about to begin tearing through the newspaper again when Alfred finally grew frustrated and pointed directly to the article he was talking about.

**CONSTRUCTION ON GOTHAM GENERAL FINISHED: GROUNDBREAKING CEREMONY TODAY**. "Oh," Bruce said. He had completely forgotten about the ceremony he had to attend that day.

"That's right, Master Wayne. And I'll be damned if you miss this event."

Finally conceding that he would have to move, Bruce rolled out of bed and said, "I don't think they'd let me miss it; not after I donated the entire 50 million it took to repair the hospital."

Alfred smiled, "No, I don't suppose they would." Bruce smiled back at his friend. Despite they occasional annoyance he felt for Alfred, he always reminded him that his life was not entirely centered on being Batman. In fact, he had actually been looking forward to this event; it gave him the hope that he may actually have a normal life one day. He tried to forget that his excitment was probably only because it assuaged his guilt for causing the destruction in the first place. Shaking the thought from his mind, he began getting dressed in a suit he pulled from his closet.

A short time later, he was standing on the steps of a newly rebuilt Gotham General and sweating profusely. He had forgotten about the heat wave when he chose the close-fitting black suit to wear to the event. Shifting from one foot to the other, he tried to listen to speech that the hospital director was giving. Snippets floated back, but the pounding that the heat was causing in ears made it difficult to hear. He looked at an officer standing next to him, and surveyed the crowd on the stage one more time before he asked, "Wasn't Commissioner Gordon supposed to be here today? Where is he?"

The officer looked distracted, but whispered back, "He got a big break on Batman. It some sort of puzzle. I haven't seen it, but everyone around the station is buzzing about it." Bruce nodded his thanks and looked straight ahead once again. He couldn't imagine what he was talking about. He hadn't left any puzzles, and surely Gordon wouldn't be going as far as to fabricate leads now that he had worked out a system of doing good again. No, it had to be something else. A copycat? It was a possibility. He felt the old pull he used to feel to solve the mystery. Could he risk it? If there was someone out there creating clues, he didn't need to worry…but what if it was actually someone who knew something? His every sense pulled him to see for himself what was going on at the station. Maybe he would go that night, stay outside, and see if he could get a glimpse of what was happening. Maybe that was what he would do.

Bruce could feel that the speech was wrapping up. The man at the microphone joked, "Since he wouldn't let us name the new building after him, the least we could do was let him cut the red ribbon. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, Bruce Wayne." With this announcement, Bruce strode forward and spread a smile onto his face, before he stepped up to perform his first duty of the day.

* * *

Jim Gordon's fingers twitched indiscriminately as he stood in the doorway to his office, watching the SWAT man, Carl, hunched over the contraption that had been sent to him. It had been about two hours since he received the package, and the sun was fully up shining through his window. But even the fresh perspective that a new day brought wasn't enough for him to wrap his head around Batman's motives. He had understood earlier that the Bat was leading the police to the criminals, but what was he doing with this cryptic message. Batman was not one for mysteries, beside his identity of course. The man he had known had always been blunt and straight to the point. The puzzle of his clandestine friend's motives was more confusing than the mechanism he found on the doorstep. This just wasn't Batman.

Before he could work it out any further in his mind, he heard a cry from behind his desk, "I think I've got it!" Gordon rushed over and Carl showed him that the ball was poised to take its last turn toward the hole at the end of the puzzle. Soon, all would be revealed, Gordon hoped. He gestured for Carl to go ahead and watched as the ball dropped into the end of the puzzle.

**I'm so sorry that it took so long to update. College applications and AP classes have been eating up all my free time. I hope you like this update. Once again, reviews are appreciated. And I promise, once I finally hit the submit button on my apps this weekend updates will come more frequently :)**


End file.
